100 Things, Pt. 3: 3/5

Since I listed twenty things that I LOVE, let’s just complete the dichotomy. Here are twenty things that I HATE.

1. Spiders. If I see one in my house, I really can’t let it live, especially if it’s a baby spider. I imagine it growing to be like the giant poisonous monsters from the movie Arachnophobia and I pull out all the stops. (p/s That movie is still with me, almost ten years later. Shudder.)

2. Terrible writing and bad heroines *coughbellaswancough*.

Side note: I’m reading Libba Bray’s A Great and Terrible Beauty, and, although it is set in PRESENT TENSE (buh!) her lead heroine is pretty strong (finally)! I recommend it. I’m almost finished if anyone wants to read my copy.

3. Mayonaisse. Or any other condiment that isn’t ketchup (I include salad dressing in this statement. I loathe salad dressing.)

4. Getting cat calls at my local gas station. Nothing is more demeaning that Polk City’s finest trying to get my attention in the worst possible sense of the word. (Why can’t nice guys be so forward without being so vulgar–like asking for my name, noting a few superficial interests [i.e. if I'm reading/writing, the band on my shirt, my Converse shoes, etc] and ask me what flavor of Starbucks coffee I enjoy the most? Is it so bloody hard? Sigh.)

5. People who assume that they know more than I do, whether or not it’s due to my hair color. (Although, I ADORE the looks on their faces when I tell them that I have a Master’s. Delicious.)

6. Writer’s Block. Talk about the utmost feeling of uselessness when you sit in front of a computer and (1) you can’t think of ANYTHING to write, (2) you write a ton, but it’s all CRAP, and (3) you’re mere seconds from scrapping an entire project and starting over (something I’ve done with my novel at least twice).

7. When people think that knowing/quoting Shakespeare means that you’re well-read. Nope. That just means that you went to high school.

8. Those who are holier than thou, especially when they judge music. No, I’m not going to hell because I listen to Tool.

9. Anyone who sees fit to disparage me because of my political standing (he shall remain nameless). Screw you, pal. At least I can think for myself.

10. When people tell a joke, a pun, or a clever aside and then EXPLAIN IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER when no one asks what it means. I want to tell them that those who deserve to get the joke will appreciate it.

11. How technologically dependent kids are nowadays. Sure, I go on the internet a lot, but I can read a book without having someone make it into a movie, illustrate it, explain it visually, etc. It’s not that they’re stupid (just the opposite, actually), but they learn so much differently now because (1) they are used to RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW convenience, (2) they see things in pictures more than they do in words, and (3) their verbal and written communication skills are in the toilet.

12. Black coffee. I just can’t drink it.

13. “You won’t be pursued unless you look like Britney Spears.” I’m still trying to forgive the walking hard-on that shared that precious gem with me.

14. Funny looks from people when I tell them that I’m writing a fantasy series.

15. Anyone who disparages Severus Snape. That will not be tolerated.

16. Asparagus. Disgusting.

17. Wimpy vampires. Sigh.

18. Polk City.

19. Prejudice, close-mindedness, pompousness, ignorance, etc, etc, etc.

20. Bees.

You can probably tell that I struggled there at the end. Actually, I strugged after number seven. It took me far to long to write this post.

Funny Anecdote: I always manage to meet the nicest (albeit sometimes strangest) people in public places. Yesterday I went to see Half-Blood Prince for a matinee (my second viewing), and I sat next to this middle-aged couple who immediately began talking with me about the series, this movie in particular, and their children. Long story (and I mean it when I say “long story”) short, their son and daughter-in-law are both some form of English professors in Philadelphia, and the man called his son a communist. I think he meant it, but I still laughed jovially. I wondered to myself whether the dad had helped influence his son or if his comment was meant to show his disapproving paternal way of thinking. “I call him my little commy,” he said. Again, I laughed.